‘The Raging Storm’ Chapters 19-24

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ She’d had some keys cut when she was in Barnstaple, but that was no business of his.

‘Feel free to light the fire.’

‘I will.’

She was about to let herself in when she remembered what Davy Gregory had told Venn: that Harry had defrauded his father of all his savings and forced him to sell his land. She moved towards the bar and sat on a stool there. ‘Any chance of a coffee while I wait for the team?’

‘Sure.’

He came back a little later with a mug. There was no sign of Gwen. Her day off, perhaps.

‘I’m surprised you don’t make a bit more of this place,’ Jen said. ‘Now staycation is a thing. You could go upmarket, serve smart food. You’d get the tourists flocking. They’re always complaining that the popular coastal villages are too crowded and they love a pub with character.’

‘Well.’ Carter set down his tea towel and leaned across the bar. ‘I did have plans. We’ve already done a major refurb on the rooms. They’re all en-suite now. I was thinking a gastropub kind of vibe. Maybe expand to the front with a restaurant extension. A lot of glass to make the most of the view. Specialize in local fish.’ His voice was as enthusiastic as a child. Or Ross May talking rugby.

‘Sounds fab,’ Jen said. ‘I’d come for a special meal out and then stay the night. What happened to your plans?’

Carter shook his head. ‘We couldn’t quite get the numbers to work.’

Jen was going to say she understood that some locals had invested, but Davy hadn’t wanted Gwen to know that her father had sunk all his savings into the project and she might still be lurking somewhere behind the scenes. Besides, it was probably not a good idea to show her hand too soon.

‘You could start with a new menu at least. That wouldn’t be too expensive. A bit of local publicity and word would soon spread.’

The landlord shook his head. ‘If I’m going to do it at all, I want to do it properly. I’m putting feelers out for some backers.’ He looked across the bar at her.

‘No good asking me!’ She laughed. ‘I’ve got two teenage kids and an overdraft.’ She slid from the stool and let herself into the snug.

+++

Matthew and Ross turned up soon after. She had the fire lit. Despite the sunshine the air was chill. Ross was almost bouncing with impatience.

‘Let’s have a look then. See where the man was living.’ Matthew, almost teasing, took his time to hang up his coat. ‘We don’t know it’s where he was living. Only where his post was sent.’ He was still standing and took a piece of paper from his pocket, set it on the table.

‘What is all this?’ Jen hated the feeling of being excluded, of boys together playing their games.

‘Jeremy Rosco hasn’t stayed in his flat in Morrisham for months,’ Venn said, ‘and then it was only for a couple of weeks. His cleaner sends on all his post. This is who it was forwarded to.’

Jen looked at the name, which meant nothing, and at the address, which gave her a sudden jolt.

‘The Wirral.’ A pause. She never liked giving away too much information about her earlier life. It was private and the memories were too painful. ‘That’s where my ex’s parents live. At least, only a couple of streets away.’ She pictured the street. Large Victorian villas backing onto the green of a smart golf club and on to the Dee Estuary. ‘It’s very posh. Used to be part of Merseyside, but the locals didn’t want to be linked with us scallies, so it’s Cheshire these days.’ She looked again at the name: I Holt. No title. ‘Whoever Mr or Miss Holt is, they’re not on the breadline.’

‘That would tie in with the train ticket from Liverpool,’ Venn said. ‘Holt could be a made-up name, I suppose. If Rosco was living there and not wanting anyone to know where he was. Or it could be a friend, someone agreeing to take in mail for him. Or a partner.’

‘We’ll be able to find out, won’t we? Now we have an address, we should be able to check who lives there through the electoral roll.’ Ross was already pulling his mobile out. ‘I’ll get Vicki onto it.’

‘Yes.’ Matthew spoke slowly. Again, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. ‘But tell Vicki no contact. Not yet. Jeremy Rosco’s death has been all over the news, but Holt hasn’t been in touch. If it’s a friend or a partner, surely they would.’

‘Not everyone wants to be involved with a murder investigation,’ Ross said.

‘Of course, that’s true. But let’s get all the details before we decide how we need to move forward.’ An impassive stare fixed on the paper in front of him. ‘We could be looking at a murder suspect here. The last thing we’d want is to scare them away.’

While they were waiting for official records to come through from Vicki, Ross was on his laptop googling, checking out social media. Matthew and Jen sat each side of him, looking at the screen. ‘I think this must be her,’ Ross said. ‘Imogen Holt. No address but she’s an actress. Small time. Had a part five years ago in a soap, and roles in a couple of ads.’ He sat back so the others could look at the woman’s photograph on the screen. ‘Here she is.’

Jen looked at a woman with long blonde hair. It was a publicity shot, so of course she’d look glamorous, but she was certainly attractive. She had a sudden thought. ‘This fits the description of the woman Alan Ford saw. Our mysterious woman who turned up in Greystone in the early hours of the day Rosco’s body was found.’

‘So it does, Jen.’

She could tell that Venn had already come to the same conclusion, but that he was letting her take the credit.

Almost immediately after, Vicki came through with the more official details. ‘Imogen Holt. Age thirty-eight. Divorced. A graduate of Northumbria University, where she got a first in Performance. She teaches drama part time at an FE college in Liverpool, but still works for a small women’s theatre group. No criminal record.’

‘Does Jeremy feature in any of her social media posts?’ Matthew directed the question to Ross.

‘No, and that’s a bit odd, isn’t it, if they’ve been living together. If it was a long-term relationship, wouldn’t he have his mail posted to him personally?’

‘It could have been an arrangement that started years ago and just drifted on,’ Jen said.

‘Maybe.’ Matthew seemed to come to a conclusion. ‘Let’s get some local officers round to that address, shall we? Discreetly, on the pretext of notifying her of the death. See what she has to say for herself. Let’s find out if she has an alibi for the night of Jeremy Rosco’s death.’

Chapter Twenty-One

WHILE HE WAS WAITING FOR news from the Wirral about Imogen Holt, Matthew phoned the doctor’s surgery. He thought that Smale might help him untangle some of the relationships within the village. It seemed that the Bartons and the Gregorys were Brethren members, and each was involved in some way with Rosco’s death. But all he got was a recorded message saying that the surgery had closed for the day.

Venn couldn’t stand the thought of another evening in the Maiden’s Prayer and headed out for Willington, hoping to catch Ruth and Peter Smale at home. He still needed to confirm that Matilda Gregory had spent the night there when Rosco was being stabbed.

The wind was picking up again, a sign perhaps that another of the Atlantic fronts was rolling through. Venn had seen a weather forecast the night before: a hurricane was just about to hit the south-east states of the US and might be on its way soon. Perhaps by then, he thought, this would be over.

The curtains still hadn’t been drawn but there was a light in the downstairs window. Ruth must have seen his car on the drive because she opened the door before he knocked. She was small and slight and she looked too young to be living in this large house.

‘Please be quiet.’ She spoke in an urgent whisper. ‘Emily’s just gone off to bed. Come on through. The rest of us are in the kitchen.’

He had to squeeze past a large, old-fashioned pram to follow her. There was a brief moment of curiosity as he wondered what it would be like to have the responsibility of a parent. Jonathan had once spoken of their adopting a child. The thought had terrified Matthew. He was too selfish. Too self-absorbed. Too wrapped up in his work. But he knew that if Jonathan wanted it, really wanted it, he would agree. In the end, he would deny his husband nothing to make him happy.

Ruth led him into a room which looked as if little had been changed since the house was built. It was cramped. There was a solid fuel range, with a coal skuttle to one side, and hanging from the ceiling an airer on a pulley. On the airer hung baby clothes. The worktops were scratched and a cupboard door was slightly open, hanging on one hinge. He could see no space for a dishwasher. A modernized version of the space could be seen in the homes of the aspirational middle classes from the Cotswolds to the Lake District, but this, Matthew thought, would be hard work.

The family must just have eaten their evening meal. Peter was at the sink, sleeves rolled to the elbows, washing up. The woman looked tired. Venn felt a stab of sympathy. She had a young baby to care for, and a mother in hospital. And here he was to intrude on her peace. Of course, she would be under stress. Her faith might help, but it wouldn’t shield her entirely from anxiety. Two girls were sitting at a scrubbed pine table, with exercise books, pencils and crayons.

‘That’s enough homework for now,’ Ruth said. ‘Let’s have half an hour’s television before bed.’

Mother and daughters left the room. Peter emptied water from the washing-up bowl, and offered tea. He must have seen Matthew’s response to the kitchen. ‘We loved the house when we first saw it. It’s perfect for work, halfway between Greystone and Morrisham. We knew it would be a project, but things ran away with us. And then we found out Ruth was pregnant again. A joy, of course, but it threw our plans out a little. I’m not sure we’d have bought it if we knew quite how long the renovations would take.’ He set mugs on the table. ‘How’s the investigation going? Or shouldn’t I ask?’

There was a moment of silence, broken by the sound of children’s television in an adjoining room. ‘It’s hard,’ Matthew said at last. ‘Coming from outside into a community as close as this.’ He looked up at Peter. ‘Some of the people closely linked to the dead man were Brethren members.’ He expected a response – outrage perhaps – but none came and he continued. ‘Rosco’s body was found in Barton’s boat, Davy Gregory went to school with him and someone looking very like Matilda Gregory was seen in the street close to his house in the early hours of the morning.’

‘I’m not sure what you want from me,’ Smale said.

‘You know all these people. You worship with them every Sunday. Could one of them commit murder?’

‘No!’ Now the response did come immediately. ‘No, of course not. They’re good people. They look after each other.’

They, Venn noted, not we. He was about to ask more when Ruth Smale came back into the room. She sat beside her husband, took the hand that was resting on the table.

‘How is your mum?’ Venn asked.

‘Better.’ She smiled up at him. ‘It’s not as serious as they all thought when they took her in. We’re still praying for her, but already it seems like a miracle.’

‘I’m glad.’

‘Tilly Gregory said you’d probably call in to check that she was here when that man was killed.’

‘You’ve been friends for a long time?’

‘Since she married Davy and we moved home. They’ve been brilliant neighbours. Davy’s a lot more practical than Pete is, so he’s the one we turn to in a domestic crisis. We had a nightmare with the septic tank, and really, you don’t want to hear the details. I’m not sure how we’d have managed without them.’

‘Can you tell me what happened on the night of the murder? Just for the record. You understand that we have to check?’

Ruth nodded. ‘Tilly said that someone matching her description was seen at the bottom of Quarry Bank that night. So dreadful for her! But, of course, she was here all the time.’

‘Just talk me through it.’

‘I got the call about mum at about four o’clock. I’d just picked up my two older daughters from school in Greystone. It was my dad from the ambulance saying they were on their way into Barnstaple. He was distraught and he sounded so scared. Pete was in surgery in the village and Tilly was still at work, in a teachers’ meeting, so she wasn’t answering her phone. I got hold of Davy, who was actually brilliant, so reassuring. He texted Tilly, and she got the message at just after four thirty. She went home to pick up some overnight things and then she came here. By that time, Pete was already on his way back from Greystone. I’m still feeding Emily, so we took her into the hospital with us and Tilly stayed with the big ones.’

‘What time did you get home from Barnstaple?’

Ruth turned to her husband. ‘What do you think? Ten thirty? Ten forty-five?’

So, a little earlier than Matilda Gregory had said. Was that significant?

‘But Mrs Gregory still decided to stay overnight with you?’

‘Yes, she was already in her pyjamas when we got in. She heard our car outside and came down to see how we were, but it made far more sense for her to stay over.’ She waved her hand to take in the space. ‘We’ve got lots of room, after all. She made us a cup of tea and then we all went to bed.’

‘You’re sure she didn’t go out later?’

‘Well, we sleep at the front and her room was at the back, so I might not have heard her, but why would she?’ When Venn didn’t answer immediately, Ruth continued: ‘Actually, I had to get up a couple of times with the baby, once at about two and once at five, and Ruth’s car was still parked by the kitchen door then.’

‘What does she drive?’ As if it was a matter of idle curiosity. ‘A little white Fiat.’

So, Venn thought, that wasn’t the car Alan Ford had seen dropping a woman off at Quarry Bank. He supposed that Gregory could have picked up his wife in his taxi and taken her into Greystone, but none of it made sense. Matilda’s parents might have known Rosco when he was young, but that wouldn’t explain a secret visit in the middle of the night. A murder.

‘What was she wearing when she came to look after your daughters?’ Covering all bases. Just in case.

‘Jeans and a sweater. And a down jacket. She knows how chilly this house can be. We’ve still not got the boiler working properly.’

So, not the skirt, the long coat and the scarf Alan Ford had seen.

‘And what happened in the morning?’

‘Tilly left early. The girls weren’t even awake. I was up because the baby needed feeding. We had tea and toast together but Tilly had gone by seven thirty. She nipped home to change, but she would have been in school long before the kids. She’s a dedicated teacher.’

Matthew supposed he’d got what he’d come for, but he still had other questions. More curiosity. Easy questions. They could have been friends, sitting around the table, catching up.

‘Where did you do your medical training?’ The question directed at Peter.

‘Newcastle. About as far away from here as it’s possible to be in England.’

Were you just a bright young man needing a new adventure? Or were you running away? From an oppressive family and the Brethren?

‘You were already together then?’

Ruth laughed. ‘Oh yes! We were childhood sweethearts. I’d already decided he’d be my husband before I left school. We both grew up in Greystone. Pete’s a few years older than me, but he came back during the uni vacations.’

Matthew thought Ruth must have been there at the Greystone Brethren meetings, when he’d been brought along by his parents, but he couldn’t remember her. She’d have been one of the gaggle of younger kids, timid, compliant, sitting with their parents.

‘When did you marry?’

‘I was nineteen. Pete was twenty-two. I moved north so he could finish his training.’ She paused. ‘It was difficult. He was working so hard. All hours in the hospital, and then doing his GP training. I didn’t know anyone and money was very tight at first.’

‘Did you work?’

‘I don’t have any formal qualifications – I always knew that university wasn’t for me – but yes. I was a care assistant in an old people’s home. It was very rewarding, but that was tough too. So many of the residents had dementia. And some weeks, it felt as if I was surrounded by the dying, and there was nothing I could do to save them.’

What would you want to save them from? Death? Or from damnation because they didn’t share your beliefs? But of course, that question stayed in Matthew’s head.

Ruth was still talking. There was something guileless about her. There was no protective skin between her and the world. No filter. She didn’t seem to care what Venn made of her. She just wanted to tell the truth as she saw it.

‘Things became easier, of course. Pete qualified and found a job in Gateshead. I got pregnant with Hannah and then Esther. We made friends there. But I could never really settle.’ She turned to her husband again. ‘You loved the north-east, didn’t you? But I missed this place. My family. The community.’

‘When did you move back to North Devon?’

Peter answered. ‘Five years ago. There was a vacancy in the health centre in Morrisham, and they were keen to open a little surgery in the village here. It all seemed meant. We rented for a while in Morrisham, and then the old rectory came on the market. We’ve only been here for a year and, as you see, there’s still a lot to do.’

Venn wondered what Peter Smale really made of it all. He’d been used to the freedom of an anonymous city, challenging work and new friends. Matthew had returned from the city to North Devon to be with Jonathan, but he’d not returned to the claustrophobic world of the Brethren. Their influence might still lurk at the back of his mind, or as an awkward voice in his head, but at home and at work, he could escape it. Smale didn’t come across as a happy man. It must seem that now, for him, there was no escape at all.

Venn stood up. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘That’s all been very helpful.’ Outside, it was quite dark. He stood for a while, looking in at the brightly lit home, still unsure what he made of the family inside.

Chapter Twenty-Two

DESPITE THE TIME, JEN hung on with Ross in the Maiden’s Prayer for Venn to return from talking to the Smales. News had come through from the officers who’d been to visit Imogen Holt, and she wanted to be there to hear his response.

Ross shouted out the information as soon as Venn came in. ‘There was no sign of the woman. They talked to neighbours and they haven’t seen her for a couple of days.’

‘She could have gone away to stay with friends,’ Matthew said, ‘to grieve perhaps, if she heard that Rosco was dead.’

‘Nah!’ Ross was triumphant. ‘She left before he died. Her car disappeared the day before.’

‘Did they confirm that she and Rosco were partners?’

‘Yes. He’s a bit of a hermit apparently, and hates publicity, so he’s not seen out in the community much. But the neighbour said they were definitely a couple.’

There was a moment of silence, then Matthew turned to Jen. ‘Any chance you could go up and see her? If she’s turned up again. Track her down otherwise and see if she was anywhere near North Devon on the night Rosco died. Maybe sniff around and get a feel for the situation? Find out why Imogen hasn’t admitted to any sort of relationship with the man on social media, and why she hasn’t been in touch once the news of his death went public. I know it’s awkward with the kids, but you’re a Scouser. Your territory and you’ll fit in.’

Jen’s first response was a shock of excitement. Back working her patch. Though she hadn’t often been called to the big houses in the smart Wirral villages, unless they’d been the targets of burglary. Then she started thinking through the practicalities. It might work. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if the kids missed a bit of school. She could make up a story about a sick grandparent. Nobody would know. Robbie’s parents would be delighted to have them for a couple of nights, and that would give her a cover story, a reason for being there. Robbie’s mother was a gossip, and she might even know Imogen.

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Why not?’

They’d moan, of course. Ella would have plans to see Zac and Ben would have to be prized away from his screen. But Ray and Joan had Wi-Fi, didn’t they? And it would do them good to do something different.

‘I’ll make a few phone calls.’ She walked out through the big bar and into the street. She didn’t want to be overheard grovelling to her in-laws. She was feeling the pull of home. The smell of the Mersey. The Wirral wasn’t quite the city she loved, but it was a lot closer to Liverpool than this place, with its cold cliffs and grey sea.

+++

It was early the following evening by the time Jen and the kids arrived at her ex’s parents’ house in Hoylake, and by then she was frazzled. They’d stopped on the M5 to find something to eat and Ella had whinged because vegan options were limited, and Ben had left his phone in the cafeteria and they’d had to go back. Then there’d been an accident, closing the motorway, and a horrendous diversion through the Cheshire countryside.

Joan looked at her watch when she opened the door to them, making a point. You said you’d be here soon after lunch. Joan had always had a point to make, even when Jen had turned up on her doorstep with a black eye and broken ribs. Today, though, the woman seemed curious about the sudden decision to visit, and invited Jen in for tea.

Jen was shattered, and wanted to make a start looking for Imogen, but if she spoke to the couple now, she wouldn’t have to come back until she picked up the kids.

They sat in the living room with its chintz and its polish, the curtains pulled tight around the bay window. The children had taken themselves off to the rooms where they always slept, to charge their phones and contact their mates at home. They seldom stayed with their father in his smart apartment on the Liverpool docks. This was their home in the north-west. Robbie might come to visit. Or he might not. It would depend if he had something more exciting on offer. The women drank tea. Ray poured himself a beer, but didn’t offer one to her.

‘Why the last-minute visit?’ Usually, Joan was supremely confident in her own domain, but now, she seemed almost diffident.

‘Work. I’m part of the Jeremy Rosco murder investigation. We think he might have had connections locally.’ There was no need to explain who Jeremy Rosco was. For her parents-in-law’s generation, he was still a hero, and they might not sail themselves, but they’d certainly have friends who did. It was that sort of community. She looked across the glass coffee table to the woman opposite. ‘You haven’t come across him?’

Joan shook her head. ‘There are lots of newcomers to the village. Things aren’t the same as they were.’ She sounded regretful and disapproving at the same time. Jen wondered if the new people were young families, people with noisy kids and arty, liberal views.

‘You’d have heard, though, if he’d joined the sailing club?’

The woman’s back straightened. ‘Oh yes, we’d certainly have heard about that.’

There was a silence. Jen finished her tea and set her cup on the table. Now, it really was time to make a move. Ray and Joan exchanged a glance.

‘We weren’t sure if you knew,’ Ray said. He drank the last of the beer.

‘Knew what?’

‘About Robert’s young lady.’

‘Is this a new one, or the one he had when the kids last visited?’ Jen wasn’t interested. Rob was attracted to pretty little things who liked his money and were prepared to meet his needs and desires to share it. Any with a mind of their own soon moved away, and he was more careful these days. No stalking. No physical violence. Nothing that could get him in trouble. Her close former colleagues had his card marked. He might be a hotshot lawyer, but they’d love to see him in court. In the dock, not addressing the bench.

‘Her name’s Amelia,’ Joan said. ‘Calls herself Millie.’ A sniff. ‘Sounds more like the name of a pet.’

Appropriate then. But Jen kept the words in her head. She was too tired to make a fuss.

‘I’m sorry, I’ll have to leave. I’m here for work.’

‘She’s pregnant.’ Ray had been building up to the revelation since she’d arrived.

Jen felt a surge of broodiness, a physical longing more powerful than sex. In that moment she wanted another baby more than anything else in the world. The sensation had been bubbling in her sub-conscience for months, she realized now. The clock ticking. She needed a child with a man who cared for her. Someone who’d be a good father. She needed a chance to prove that after all the mistakes of the past, she could be a good mother. She wanted the swelling of the belly, the first kick, the labour, the suck of a greedy infant. Those sensations.

They were waiting for a reaction from her, but she’d never given them what they wanted. Her unwillingness to compromise with his parents had been the cause of Robbie’s first assault.

‘It was unplanned,’ Joan said. ‘By Robert at least. But it seems she’s determined to go ahead.’

Jen stood up. ‘I apologize, but I really must get on.’

‘Why don’t you come for lunch on Sunday?’ Joan’s voice was bright. ‘It’ll set you up for the long journey. All the way to Devon.’

It occurred to Jen that the couple must disapprove of Millie even more than they’d disliked her. They believed she’d trapped their only and beloved son into an unsuitable relationship. Her spirits lifted for a moment, but the broodiness, the jealousy was still there in the pit of her stomach. Besides, Sunday lunch! Overcooked beef in a floury gravy in the formal dining room. It had been a ritual in the early days of her marriage, and she’d only survived it by drinking too much. Several G&Ts before they got there, and too much thick red wine with the meal, topping up her glass when she thought they weren’t looking. And Ella and Ben would hate it.

She smiled at them. ‘Sorry, I’m not sure what time I’ll be done. It’s a difficult case.’ Lunch was always at one on the dot. They wouldn’t compromise on that.

‘Of course.’ Joan was too proud to show her disappointment. ‘We could do coffee afterwards, though. We’ll make you coffee before you set off.’

‘That would be lovely.’ Because Jen saw now that they were old and lonely. Their world had changed and she could afford to be generous.

Chapter Twenty-Three

ROSS FOUND RODNEY BOTTLE  in a smart retirement flat in a little development on the edge of Morrisham. There was a gate with an intercom and, beyond that, manicured lawns.

Bottle himself was spry and jovial. When Ross phoned, it had been clear that the man would relish the company, and the chance to talk about his career. They met in the communal lounge, which was empty, apart from a woman in the far corner who was sitting with a newspaper, doing the crossword. There was a coffee bar at the end of the room, and the lawyer shouted across an order for drinks and scones. He walked with a stick and couldn’t have managed the tray, so a young woman with pink hair carried it to their table.

‘I saw the news about Jeremy Rosco’s death. Of course, I’ve retired now and all the paperwork will be in the office, but I’ll help if I can.’

‘Rosco inherited a considerable fortune from Grace Fanshaw.’

‘He did!’ Rodney was spreading jam on his scone and looked up. ‘It was all above board. The nephew tried to challenge it, but Grace Fanshaw was clearly of sound mind. I knew her, not as a client, but as a neighbour. She was frail at the end, but sharp as a tack.’

‘How did she die?’

‘Pancreatic cancer. Terrible disease. She went very quickly.’ He looked at Ross again. ‘And that was above board too, if you’re thinking what I believe you are. She was in hospital for her last two weeks. There was no monkey business around her death.’

Ross smiled. He hadn’t been thinking murder in relation to Grace Fanshaw; he was young and thought the elderly died all the time. The old man obviously had a colourful imagination.

‘Were you surprised that Miss Fanshaw left everything to Rosco?’

‘Not once I’d met the boy. He bounced into my office full of charm and confidence.’ He nodded towards the teenager with the pink hair. ‘Jasmine she’s called. She brightens my life. Always full of chat and a joke. If I didn’t have close dependents, I’d leave everything I had to her. Better that than the government have it all.’ He gave a wink. ‘I’ve left her a couple of thousand anyway. She doesn’t know. It’ll give her a nice holiday, or help her get her first car.’

‘But Miss Fanshaw left him a fortune! Not quite the same.’

‘Jeremy had been good to her, and was almost a permanent carer at one point. Not living in, but visiting to shop for her, and to keep her company. The nephew didn’t even come to see her in the hospital when she was dying. It seemed harsh that she’d left the nephew out of her will, but I could see why it happened.’

‘Do you think Rosco had expectations?’

‘You think he was kind to her in the hope of inheriting? Probably! But there’s nothing illegal in that.’ Rodney dropped the last of the scone into his mouth, avoiding crumbs on his smart blazer. ‘And it was years ago!’

‘When was the last time you saw him?’

‘It was just before I retired. Ten years ago. He turned up without an appointment, but he was a celebrity then, at the height of his fame, and my assistant squeezed him in.’

‘What did he want?’

‘This time it was his will he was thinking about.’

‘Oh?’ Ross thought this would be very helpful. It could tell them if Rosco had any kids, for example. He could get information about the sailor’s private life here in North Devon, before Jen Rafferty got anywhere near to Merseyside.

‘Yes, that was all very interesting.’ The old man chuckled. ‘That’ll put the cat among the pigeons, I thought. There was only one beneficiary.’

‘It wasn’t Eleanor Lawson?’

‘It was!’ Bottle was obviously disappointed that Ross had guessed. It was as if Rodney was a comedian, and a member of the audience had shouted out the tagline of his favourite joke. ‘Respectable member of the community. Married to Barty, who is magistrate and commodore of the sailing club. It was almost as if Rosco wanted to disrupt the marriage.’

‘Did Eleanor know?’

‘Well, I didn’t tell her! Not my place. I suppose Jeremy could have done.’ A pause. ‘I don’t know how much he has to leave. I suppose he’d have made a bit from all those TV programmes. They seem to be repeated all the time.’

Ross was thinking of the visit to Rosco’s home. ‘He still owns an apartment in the block on the seafront. I bet the big ones there go for a fortune.’

‘Oh, indeed. Yes, indeed. There was one for sale recently.

They wanted nearly half a million. Stupid prices. I don’t know how young people can get on the housing ladder.’

Ross felt a little smug. He and Mel had bought before prices in the south-west went through the roof. They’d been sensible and got their priorities right.

‘I wonder what Eleanor’s husband will make of an old flame leaving her all that money.’

‘I don’t know.’ That little chuckle again. ‘I’m betting there’ll be fireworks when he finds out. He’s got a temper on him, Barty Lawson. He’ll be glad of the money, though. His old man was a bit of a gambler and there wasn’t much left for Barty to inherit. Eleanor has the big house and all that land, but word is that she’ll never sell it.’ He paused. ‘You could build a good few homes for local people on that.’

Ross wondered how the former lawyer got all his information. He thought it was the gossip that kept the man so engaged and so lively. He must have visitors who enjoyed the chat as much as he did. But Ross was grateful. These were useful snippets to take back to Venn. He sat a little longer, listening to Bottle talking. He was a local history nut, full of stories of the old Morrisham, of pirates and wreckers and adventurers. Eventually boredom outweighed gratitude and Ross May got to his feet and left.

+++

‘So, Rosco left everything he had to Eleanor,’ Venn said. ‘I wonder what she’ll make of that.’ They were meeting in the cafe bar in the apartment block where Rosco had kept his flat.

‘I thought he could have changed his will more recently, that this new woman on the Wirral might benefit now, but I phoned the solicitor’s office, and apparently the one Rodney Bottle put together still stands.’

‘You could do with a break and some time with Mel,’ Venn said. ‘Have a couple of nights at home. Come back on Monday morning.’

Ross looked at Venn as if he was a bit mad. The boss wasn’t given to those kinds of gesture, not to Ross at least. He was out of the door before Matthew could change his mind.

Chapter Twenty-Four

ON IMPULSE, MATTHEW decided that he would go home too. Suddenly, he longed to be in the calm house by the estuary. To spend a little time with Jonathan on home territory. The threatened wind still showed no real sign of arriving despite the isobars on the weather map.

He was going to phone or text, but in the end he didn’t. He decided he’d show Jonathan that he could be spontaneous for once. He’d surprise him. Yet, when he drove along the toll road at the back of Braunton marsh and parked by the house, he was the person to be surprised. Jonathan’s car was there, but there was another vehicle that Matthew didn’t recognize. Something a bit old and battered. Some of Jonathan’s arty friends, Matthew decided. He wondered how long it would take them to get rid of the visitors tactfully. This, he thought, was why spontaneity was rarely a good idea.

When Matthew let himself into the house, there was only one visitor. The teacher he’d seen having lunch with Jonathan in Morrisham. Jonathan beamed when Matthew walked in, and pulled him into a hug.

‘Oh, that’s great timing. I’m just making coffee.’ The anxiety of the day before seemed to have disappeared. That was how Jonathan was. Bad moods passed like clouds blown across the moon. ‘We’ve finished supper, but I can make you something if you’re hungry?’

Matthew shook his head, and Jonathan continued: ‘This is Guy. He teaches at Morrisham High. I thought I’d be on my own tonight, so I invited him round.’

‘Of course.’ Matthew held out his hand. His mother had considered manners important. ‘You’re a member of the yacht club.’

‘Yeah …’ The man looked at Jonathan, suddenly suspicious.

‘I haven’t been talking about you!’ Jonathan laughed. ‘He’s a detective. He knows stuff.’

‘My sergeant saw you there, the day he went to chat to the commodore.’ Venn pulled mugs from the cupboard, and went to the fridge for milk. ‘Did you know Jeremy Rosco?’

‘I taught him. Introduced him to sailing. At least, I stuck some posters on the school noticeboard and he turned up. Ruffled a few feathers at the club, having a youngster like Jem trying to join us, but that was just what was needed. It was turning into a glorified gentlemen’s club.’

‘You must have been very proud when he set the round-the-world record.’

The man smiled. ‘Well, I was glad to prove the old farts in the club wrong. They never thought Rosco would make anything of himself. I was young and radical back then. Now, I’m one of the old farts myself, just reliving the past.’

‘When was the last time you saw him?’

‘Oh, it was at least five years ago. He just turned up at the club. The poor commodore was almost apoplectic. He’d never liked the man, and then in waltzed Jeremy, the centre of attention, all smiles and swagger. There was nothing Barty could do. Rosco had been invited by one of the newer members, who knew nothing of the bad feeling between the two men. No rules broken so Barty had to grin and bear it.’

‘Can you think why anyone would want to kill Rosco?’ The question came out almost without Venn thinking about it.

There was a silence in the room while the man considered the question.

‘Nobody specific,’ Guy said at last. ‘But he was an awkward bugger. Nothing he liked better than winding people up to get a reaction. Just the sort of kid you don’t need in a class.’

+++     

Jonathan was up first again the next day. ‘I’m going for my swim. Want to join me?’

‘Nah, I’ll have coffee made when you get back.’ Then, hit by the fear that such happiness could never last: ‘You will take care? It’s still rough out there.’ Thinking that perhaps he should go too, just in case there was an accident.

Jonathan only laughed.

At Jonathan’s insistence, they had breakfast outside. ‘This could be the last day it’s possible.’ They sat in the lee of the house, sheltered from the breeze, eating scrambled eggs. Matthew was wearing a jersey but still felt cold. Jonathan was in shorts and sandals, and was talking about his supper with the teacher.

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‘As you’ll have gathered last night, Guy found Rosco hard-going, and that’s not like him. He can find good things to say about most of his students, but he was more honest when we were on our own together. He said you couldn’t trust Rosco. He was the best liar he’d ever met. Perhaps because he believed in his own lies. He was often on the edge of trouble, but there was always some other poor sod who got the blame.’ Jonathan paused. ‘There is something else.’

‘Mmm?’ Matthew was relaxed. He wasn’t sure he wanted there to be anything else.

‘You were wondering how the killer got from Moon Crest’s tender back to dry land.’

‘Yes.’ Now he was listening intently.

‘I know I shouldn’t interfere, but I’ve been looking at some large-scale maps and I think there’s a place where you could get up the cliff to the coastal path.’

‘Can you show me?’

‘Sure! I’d be glad to.’ A pause. ‘I’d like to help and it’d be an adventure.’